


Be Careful What You Wish For

by Avana_reads



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry's chest monster, Humor, M/M, Malfoy Manor, One Shot, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Sexual Tension, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 03:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20001901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avana_reads/pseuds/Avana_reads
Summary: In which Harry's chest monster wakes up for the first time since the war.Just a sweet and funny fic.





	Be Careful What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for HD_Smoochfest 2011, for bootsy_mine whose prompts were Malfoy Manor, hot tub, cheesecake, chocolate, massage and Harry's chest monster. The combination of chest monster and massage immediately brought me a plot bunny I quite liked.  
> The lovely, wonderful and awesome Brent Maenen, Myriam H and Wendypops helped me make this fic far, far better! I owe them. All remaining mistakes, of course, are mine.

‘… and now all he does is cut fabrics. So much for being a fashion designer.’

Harry joined in with the others and laughter echoed from the walls of the Leaky Cauldron.

‘Did anyone happen to see Millicent Bulstrode lately?’ Lavender asked. Her voice was a mixture of excitement and disbelief, and it made sure that every female at the large table in the corner of the café leaned closer in anticipation.

All, with the exception of Hermione who watched the girls with slight exasperation and rolled her eyes.

Harry knew how the habit of their friends, to start their monthly gathering with the exchange of the latest gossip about former schoolmates, annoyed her. Usually she managed to skip this first part of the evening under the pretence that she had to do overtime at the Ministry, but since she just had a week off for the first time in ages, she hadn’t been able to avoid it.

He startled when Ginny and Parvati exclaimed: ‘You’ve got to be kidding! She lost twenty pounds? Which modelling agency?’

Even Harry rolled his eyes at this blatant display of shallowness. He was just thinking of something, anything, to change the subject, when Dean beat him to it.

‘Speaking of Slytherins … guess who was spotted at a Muggle beauty salon the other day?’

Dean tried to silence Ginny, so they could take a guess, but his girlfriend blurted the answer anyway.

‘Draco Malfoy!’

The silence that followed didn’t last longer than four seconds, and then Dean was bombarded with questions.

‘How do you know?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Draco bloody Malfoy?’

‘Who saw him?’

Even Hermione seemed interested. Harry, however, was just speechless. He stared at Dean with his mouth hanging open. Draco Malfoy visited a Muggle establishment? He could see the ponce in a beauty salon, sure, but a Muggle one?

‘… not a visitor. He works there according to Dean!’ Ginny giggled.

‘WHAT?’ Harry blushed when he realized that not only had he drawn the attention of all of his friends, but most of the other customers as well. ‘But … how … why?’

Hermione came to his rescue and explained in her no-nonsense voice: ‘Well, it’s kind of logical, isn’t it? The Ministry did seize large amounts of money and properties, so I suppose he can’t live off of daddy’s money, like he used to.’

She gave Harry a short, but meaningful look before she continued: ‘And besides, he doesn’t have a wand of his own anymore.’

Harry tightened his jaw but ignored the comment. It wasn’t the first time his friend had brought up the issue of Malfoy’s wand. Of course deep down Harry knew he should have given Malfoy his wand back a long time ago, but …

He sighed. There just wasn’t a good reason, but something had been holding him back.

Dean told everyone that he’d seen Malfoy leave in the lavender uniform the masseurs of the salon wore when he had been waiting to pick up his cousin.

Suddenly Harry felt something inside that he hadn’t felt for years. Hot blood seemed to flood his brain and extinguish all reasonable thought.

The voices surrounding him vanished as though they were a great distance away. Ron’s freckles faded, and the faces of Neville and Seamus blurred together with other ones until his friends where nothing more than a group of faceless people.

The faceless people who went for a massage from Malfoy everyday. The thought was clawing at his insides like a wild animal trying to break out of his cage; after all this time his chest monster had woken up again.

Someone took a firm hold of his arm.

‘Harry?’ Vaguely he recognized Hermione’s voice. He shook his head as if to clear his mind. Hermione sounded a little worried, but she had that curious look in her eyes like she always had whenever she stood on the brink of figuring something out. He took his glass in order to avoid her eyes and was glad to see his hands at least were steady.

‘Sorry, Hermione, it’s been a long day and you’re explanation made me think about …’

‘Malfoy’s wand?’

What? Butterbeer spurted from his nose while he looked with wide-open eyes at his best friend.

Hermione looked apologetically at him and handed him a paper napkin.

‘I know,’ she said, ‘I shouldn’t have made that comment earlier, but I don’t understand why you just won’t give it back to Malfoy.’

Ah, the wand!

‘Oi, Hermione, let him enjoy his Butterbeer. You can push Harry into doing that again tomorrow,’ Ron said from his other side. Hermione grumbled something, turned her back to them, and started a conversation with Susan.

Ron shrugged his shoulders and asked Harry about his last assignment.

Although Harry had a great evening, once in a while the thought about the monster in his chest crossed his mind, and he wondered why the beast had risen after all this time. If he remembered correctly, it had erupted into life in Harry’s stomach during sixth year when he and Ron had caught Ginny snogging Dean.

He looked at the two of them, but felt nothing. Dean was feeding his girlfriend tiny biscuits and kissing the crumbs off her lips. When Ginny caught him watching them, she smiled. As Harry returned the gesture, he realized that the only feeling in his chest at that moment was happiness for the two of them.

o~0~O~0~o

Harry let himself fall on the couch, too exhausted to climb the stairs yet, and too intoxicated to Apparate without the risk of splinching himself. ‘I shouldn’t have taken those Firewhiskeys Seamus kept offering,’ he grumbled to the empty room.

That was probably the reason he had been feeling so weird earlier. It had nothing to do with chest monsters. Nothing at all!

But the mention of chest monsters immediately brought his thoughts back to Draco sodding Malfoy. In a lavender uniform, which would look ridiculous on someone else, but would only highlight Malfoy’s silver blond hair. Something his clients would most likely appreciate. His chest monster roared its disapproval. The idea that Malfoy would put his hands on Muggles was repulsing. Since Harry never had a massage himself, he could only imagine where Malfoy would put his hands; on some stranger’s shoulders, probably, or on their back, and maybe lower on their buttocks. Soft and feminine, or firm and masculine.

His monster growled and Harry had the sudden urge to jinx those strangers into jelly. Unfortunately his lower body was in disagreement with the creature in his chest. The thought of Malfoy’s long, pale fingers on firm buttocks had caught the attention of his cock, which seemed to be very interested.

‘No, no, no,’ he moaned, not liking where this was going to. But the Firewhiskey – because what else could cause such stupid thoughts? – conjured images of those pale hands on Harry’s tanned skin, and he moaned again. Unable to think of anything else, he wondered if Malfoy’s hands would be rough; calloused from flying his broom during a Quidditch game, or soft because the git probably went for a manicure on a regular basis. But seeing that Malfoy had to work for money, there couldn’t have been many of those in the recent months, so his fingers would likely feel the same as Harry’s. His traitorous fingers, which had sneaked up under the hem of his shirt, moved over his abs in a lazy fashion. He put a little more pressure to it, because obvious Malfoy would be massaging the skin, not caressing. Something in the back of his mind screamed to stop acting so revolting, but his hands wouldn’t listen. They slid slowly over his chest, brushing his nipples, and he shivered at the sensation.

His head tipped back against the couch, he closed his eyes and gave up fighting. As he stroked over his skin downwards again, over ribs and flat abdomen, he pretended his hand was Malfoy’s. Malfoy, whom he’d paid to touch him, to glide his hands all over Harry’s body, to follow the downy soft line of hair to the waistband of his jeans, which were suddenly too tight. Harry fumbled with the buttons, tugged at the fabric and pulled it down. He gasped as the fingertips – his fingertips - tentatively pushed into the dark hair. He couldn’t believe how arousing the image was of Malfoy’s hand touching Harry like this. The thought send a jolt straight to his cock. He shivered and slid his fingers over the hard shaft. His lips parted and a moan escaped. As he imagined silver-grey eyes looking at him – one eyebrow raised – while Malfoy stroked him, Harry felt close to coming. Little thrills of delight started flowing through his body, until he felt release soar through him and spray over his tight abdomen and jeans. He sagged on the couch, his arm limp beside him.

When he eventually fell asleep, the monster in his chest purred softly.

A ray of sunshine tortured his eyes. His head was pounding, there was a kink in his neck vertebrae that seemed to be connected with the sharp pain behind his left eye, and his mouth tasted like hell. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover that he’d been drooling. Talking of which …

His eyes snapped southwards and he discovered that his lower body was covered with a blanket. The woollen fabric felt weird on his naked bits, he thought. Then realization hit him; it must have been Kreacher doing the covering up thing. Mortified he closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the back of the couch.

Fuck! Not a wise action.

The smell of coffee was coming from the kitchen and Harry debated what to do. Embarrassment told him to hide in his room, but the hammering sound in his head demanded he face his house-elf and get some coffee. He was brave. Wasn’t he? Well, that’s what people always told him anyway.

The sound of the cupboard doors reminded him of the spare hangover potion he kept in his kitchen. Just for occasions like this.

The marching band gave an encore when he got up from the couch and he groaned silently. The blanket fell on the floor although some lint got stuck in the mess he’d made last night when he’d been thinking about –

Oh no, not going there again!

He took his wand, casted a cleaning charm on himself, and pulled his pants and trousers back up. He wanted to grind his teeth, but that didn’t sit well with his neck. With a sigh, he went to the kitchen.

o~0~O~0~o

Looking at the big mansion in front of him, Harry wondered what the hell he was doing here. Apparently somewhere between breakfast and just before he’d Apparated he’d decided to go visit Draco Malfoy, of all people. When he really should avoid him like the dragon pox, at least until every last drop of liquor was out of his system.

He fingered the two wands in his pocket and sighed, resigned. Had he ever won against Hermione in the end, when she wanted him to do the right thing?

He stepped up to the front door and knocked. When the door opened, he automatically looked downwards, but to his surprise, he didn’t see the big, hairy feet of an house-elf, but a pair of expensive leather shoes and some neat, black trousers.

‘Well, well, isn’t this a surprise,’ a familiar voice drawled. Harry’s head snapped up and a sharp ache shot through his neck again. His vision blurred for a moment and when he opened his eyes Draco Malfoy was standing before him, looking obviously amused, and maybe a bit curious.

‘How can I help the great Harry Potter, defender of the wizarding world?’

Harry looked into the same silver-grey eyes he’d thought about just yesterday and blinked for a moment. By Merlin, he hoped that he wouldn’t blush. To avoid those damned eyes he let his own travel over the man. A pristine, white shirt, which looked like it had just been ironed, underneath a black jacket, matching the trousers. The man looked impeccable. Like … he had a date? Harry’s chest monster woke up and rumbled warningly.

Malfoy arched an eyebrow and that reminded Harry about his fantasy last night again and … Fuck! He felt his cheeks heat up and wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of this place.

‘Look, Malfoy, I probably should’ve come sooner, but I – I recently remembered that your wand was still in my possession, so I just wanted to give it back. Sorry it took this long, but with all the after war business … you know …’ Harry fumbled for the hawthorn wand while he rattled on.

‘So now you’re handing out memorabilia? I get to have my wand back from the great Harry Potter?’ Malfoy scoffed. ‘Well, you know what, I don’t want it!’

‘Don’t be daft, Malfoy!’ Harry second-guessed his decision to come here for the umpteenth time in as many minutes. ‘It’s your wand! You shouldn’t have to live without one, just because Ollivander won’t sell to you.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘Although, can you really blame him?’

Malfoy looked at Harry as if he were insane – well, even more than usual – and said with disdain: ‘After all you’ve learned you honestly don’t believe Ollivander is the only wand maker in the world, do you?’ He shook his head in disbelief and told Harry: ‘We went to Monsieur Arceneau in France right after the trials. He may not be as well-known as Ollivander in the British wizarding world, but he’s just as good.’

‘But … but I heard you didn’t have a wand, and that you worked in a beauty salon?’ Harry shook his head with incomprehension. Why would Malfoy work with Muggles if he didn’t have to? Another thought crossed him mind. Why would Hermione nag me about returning this wand?

Suddenly he remembered the way she had looked sometimes when they’d discussed the issue. Like she knew something about him even he himself didn’t. _Oh no, damn you, Hermione Granger._

He groaned softly. ‘Sorry to have bothered you then, Malfoy! Won’t happen again!’ He turned to leave, wanting to get away as soon as possible, but a hand grabbed his arm.

‘Oh no, Potter. You can’t just leave like that, without telling me everything about the latest gossip about me and my working environment.’ Malfoy snapped his fingers and an old house-elf in a tablecloth appeared in an instant. While Harry tried to unravel Malfoy words – Did that mean he really worked at a beauty salon? – Malfoy gave the elf orders to serve tea in the drawing room.

‘Wait,’ Harry protested but the house-elf had already disappeared and Malfoy, his hand still on Harry’s arm, guided him through the door and into the Manor.

Harry really didn’t want to have tea with Malfoy, but he also didn’t want to wrestle with someone who was smaller than him, and had only one wand against his two. And Hermione would certainly give him a scolding if he let that house-elf serve tea for nothing, wouldn’t she?

So there he was, in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, with Draco Malfoy who was pouring two cups of tea while he politely asked: ‘Raspberry, white chocolate or black cherry, Potter?’

‘What?’ Harry asked, thoroughly confused.

‘Raspberry, white chocolate or black cherry, Potter?’ Malfoy waved his hand with a vibrant flourish at the side table. It was only then that Harry noticed an assortment of the most amazing looking cheesecakes he’d ever seen. This time it was his stomach that rumbled.

Malfoy snickered. ‘Problems with a roaring lion, Potter?’

_Only with a roaring chest monster._ To keep away from that line of thoughts he stepped closer and took a better look.

The cheesecakes looked creamy, and smooth, and rich. Moist layers of cake and soft, fresh cheese were covered with fresh raspberries on one, and shiny black berries on another. But Harry’s eyes were caught by the white chocolate cheesecake, which was swirled with chunks of dark chocolate bark, topped with white chocolate mousse and finished with chopped dark chocolate.

‘Ah, the Chosen One has a taste for contrasts,’ Malfoy said. ‘Surprising, Potter, I would’ve pegged you for a raspberries kind of guy.’ He levitated a respectable wedge of the white chocolate cheesecake onto a saucer and handed it over to Harry. After he had handed out the tea he sat down with his own cake. The chocolate cheesecake too, Harry noticed.

Still standing in the middle of the room, Harry sat down in the nearest arm chair. Unable to resist, he switched off the voice of Ron in his head that screamed: ‘Poison!’ and ‘A snake will always be a snake’ and took a bite.

An explosion of taste erupted in his mouth – crushed, buttered biscuit, the fresh cheese, the sweet white chocolate and the bitterness of the dark. A moan escaped before he could help it.

Malfoy looked up at him with an expression that Harry had never seen before.

He felt awkward and asked slightly defensively: ‘What? It’s good.’

‘Of course it’s good, you twit. Although I'm not surprised to hear it. Malfoy house-elves obviously have standards to uphold in whatever they serve to our guests,’ Malfoy stated. He was looking like the arrogant sod that Harry remembered again.

Harry put up his hands in mock surrender and decided to remain silent. At least until he’d finished the cake.

They lapsed into silence while they ate their cheesecake and drank tea, which Harry found oddly comfortable. But eventually they were finished and when Harry looked up, Malfoy was watching him with interest. His eyebrow was raised as if to encourage Harry to talk.

‘Malfoy,’ Harry started, unsure of what he wanted to say. He still didn’t know what he was doing here. It was very unsettling to say the least.

‘Yeah, Potter?’

‘Are you really working as a masseur in a beauty salon? A Muggle salon?’ He blurted out, and immediately cursed his thoughts for sending him this way. Malfoy looked at him for a moment, a smile ghosted his lips.

‘Is there something wrong with working as a masseur, Potter? Or do you think my hands are unworthy of touching anyone, be it wizard or Muggle?’ His expression had changed from amused to guarded, and Harry hastened himself to deny that statement. But the thought of Malfoy’s hands touching wizards and Muggles made his chest monster growl again.

‘Because I can assure you, I am very good with my hands.’ Something wicked suddenly crossed Malfoy’s features. He stood up, walked over to Harry and offered his hand. Totally stunned, Harry let himself pull up.

‘Come on, I’ll show you the massage room and the relaxation area I have here at home.’

At home? Malfoy was working from the Manor, too? Massaging wizard clients near his rooms? Where they could easily take advantage of him?

Guided by the enraged inner beast and Malfoy’s hand on his arm again, he let himself be led through the Manor.

o~0~O~0~o

At the end of a long corridor Malfoy opened a door and gestured for Harry to enter. Since he was already in the proverbial snake pit Harry thought ‘why not?’ and stepped inside. Whatever he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. The room was divided by a wall to wall curtain, which hid the right side of the room. On the left side was a nice sitting area with a fireplace. Instead of lavender, the room was decorated in different shades of creams and ivory. It looked elegant, yet cosy.

There were two more doors, one on his left side, suggesting another room, and one right in front of him, which stood open and gave him a glimpse of the outdoors.

Harry expected Malfoy to show him what was behind the curtain but the man surprised him again by crossing the room and stepping outside, through the open door. He stared at Malfoy in obvious confusion. Was he playing tricks with Harry? First he didn’t want his wand back, then he wouldn’t let him leave but served him tea and cake, and now, after a tour about the Manor, he wanted Harry to go outside instead of showing him his working area?

And why was Harry playing along? As Ron would say: ‘Well, you did your best, mate. You offered him his wand and he refused. Nothing more to it, right?’ And even Hermione wouldn’t understand why he hadn’t left already. But they didn’t have that bloody chest monster, did they? There was also that embarrassing event last night, and even though he totally blamed the Firewhiskey, he doubted that Ron had done the same thing. Or Hermione. He shuddered and felt something claw on the inside. It was clearly a mistake to have headed down that train of thought.

‘Do you think you’re finally able to move forwards or should I send Dipsy for some Mandrake Draught?’

He scowled at Malfoy, but the man arched his eyebrow again which rendered Harry speechless. _It must be Dark Magic_ , he thought desperately.

When he reached the door, Malfoy turned on his heel and headed outside. Harry followed, trying to regain his composure in the meantime. But the sight that met his eyes left him stand rooted on the spot. This was the relaxation area?

Surrounded by all kinds of exotic plants, in the middle of a small wood-panelled terrace, was a hot tub. Made from cedar, it surely was a thing of beauty. The rich colours and grains in the wood were simply stunning.

The steam exuded a wonderful scent. It drew Harry closer and without conscious thought he stepped onto the wooden steps, wondering how many clients had sat in that hot, steaming water, and if Malfoy had joined him.

Something large and scaly erupted in Harry’s stomach again and a sudden madness got hold of him. Nobody was allowed to bathe with Malfoy, to see all of that smooch, pale skin, and watch how much his blond hair would change from silvery to gold when it was wet.

‘Be my guest.’

Distracted by images of a hot and wet Malfoy, he was startled when the man suddenly stood behind him. He turned around abruptly and slipped on the wet wood. Next thing he knew, he was in the hot tub. Mysteriously, he hadn’t hurt himself, except for his neck, which was killing him again due to the abrupt movement. He groaned while grabbing his neck.

‘Did you bump your head?’ Malfoy asked.

Harry looked up expecting to see one of Malfoy's mocking sneers. Instead, all he saw was a soft inquisitive expression. The wand in his hand explained Harry’s soft landing.

‘....’

‘Come on, let’s have a look then,’ Malfoy said, and for the second time that day he offered his hand. Harry took a steadying breath and let his eyes wander over Malfoy’s impeccable outfit for a second. It would be very satisfying to mess it up, but maybe it wasn’t a very smart idea; the two of them in a hot tub. His monster begged to differ, but he ignored it. Malfoy, however, seemed to agree.

‘Don’t you dare, Potter!’ he warned him. ‘This is a silken shirt and it will be ruined beyond repair if it gets in hot water.’

It was tempting, but Harry managed to control himself. He let Malfoy help him out of the hot tub. Soaking wet he looked at Malfoy, who watched him with vigilance but smirked nonetheless.

‘Come on. It wouldn’t do for a Malfoy to let the Chosen One catch a cold.’ As he turned to head for the door, Harry couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy’s trousers were clearly tailor fitted.

‘Have a seat,’ Malfoy said as soon as Harry stepped into the room again and he pointed to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

‘I can’t sit there,’ Harry protested, ‘I’ll wet it and ruin the fabric.’

Malfoy rolled his eyes. ‘Ever heard of a Drying Spell, Potter? The perks of being a wizard, you know?’ Impatiently, he pointed again. ‘Or should I consider that proof of the fact that you did indeed bump your head?’

Harry shook his head and cringed when pain shot from his neck to just behind his right eye. He stopped arguing; he was wet and getting more cold by the minute and it felt as if someone was sticking burning needles through his right eye. So he sat down, with his soggy trousers on the expensive arm chair.

‘Potter!’ Malfoy exclaimed, in a shocked voice.

Startled, Harry jumped up again. Green eyes shot wildly through the room. ‘What?’

Malfoy sighed in desperation: ‘I meant your clothes, Potter, not the chair.’ He took his wand and cast the spell himself, on Harry, and on the chair.

When Harry didn’t move immediately, Malfoy rolled his eyes and said: ‘Come, I can’t look to see whether you’ve hurt yourself if you won’t sit down.’

Although Harry was grateful for his dry clothes, he couldn’t let Malfoy think he could boss him around, therefore he replied: ‘Ah, that’s right, you’re too short to look down on me, aren’t you?’

Malfoy went to stand behind him and took Harry’s head surprisingly gently in his hands, before Harry heard him say: ‘Has no one ever told you, size really doesn’t matter?’

Harry wanted to react but it was hard enough to try and keep his emotions in check when he felt Malfoy’s fingers combing through his hair in search for a bruise or swelling.

The gentle massaging of his scalp reminded him of Malfoy’s work and his eyes strayed over to the area that was hidden behind the curtain.

‘How often do you treat patients at home?’

Harry tried to keep his monster at bay but knew he had failed when Malfoy’s hands stilled and he asked: ‘Jealous much, Potter?’

Harry could almost hear a blond eyebrow crawl upwards. ‘No, yes, well, of course not,’ he denied half-heartedly. ‘I just think you ought to watch out for people who might have an ulterior motive for wanting a massage. Some might even have bad intentions.’

His breath caught when Malfoy leaned over and asked devilishly: ‘Do I look like I can’t handle a single, ill-intentioned witch or wizard?’

The clean, citrus scent from an expensive cologne wafted towards Harry’s nose. The smell was tempting and begged him to come closer. It moved to his brains and short-circuited his ability to talk. Instead he shook his head.

‘Fuck!’

A scorching pain travelled from the jaw line to the side of the head, followed by the hot needle-like pain behind his eye. He rubbed the side of his face. Putting some pressure on his temples seemed to help. Malfoy stepped from behind the chair.

‘What’s wrong, Potter?’

‘It’s nothing, really,’ Harry said. ‘There’s this kink in my neck because I fell asleep on the couch last night.’ At the same moment he felt his face warm up when he remembered just why and how he’d been in that position.

Of course Malfoy immediately did that stupid thing with his eyebrow and Harry wanted to give him an annoyed look but to his horror, he discovered that he was getting aroused.

‘I presume you don’t want to explain why you’d found yourself to be in that predicament?’ Malfoy smirked before he got serious.

‘That pain is almost certainly caused by the muscle problems in your neck. Sleeping in such a posture will strain the muscles without a doubt. It’s a good thing I’m known for my skilful hands then. Right, Potter? I can work those specific muscles to reduce the spasm which causes the pain.’

While Harry was still trying to soothe the grumbling in his chest, in order to understand those words, Malfoy summoned a large, strange looking device. He then pulled Harry out of the armchair and waved shortly with his wand.

Harry squeaked with an embarrassingly high voice when all of a sudden he was naked, with the exception of his pants.

‘What the hell, Malfoy?’ Harry yelled, looking around in bewilderment for his Vanished clothes.

‘Oh hush, Potter,’ Malfoy said. He grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him towards that … thing. ‘You come here asking questions about my massages and my clients, but when I’m about to put my hands on you, you act like a prim Hufflepuff girl.’

He pushed Harry onto one of the leather covered cushions the device seemed to be made of and pressed gently between Harry’s shoulder blades, until Harry was half laying with his face downwards, staring at the floor through a cushioned ring. He didn’t know what was more disturbing; the way Malfoy talked or his hands touching Harry’s naked skin.

He wanted to get up, but was afraid he’d be revealing more than he already had; there was only so much his pants could confine.

‘Just kidding, Potter. Relax, I know what I’m doing,’ Malfoy said, and then he put his hands on Harry for real. They were warm against his cool skin and started treating his neck muscles. It didn’t take long before he did , indeed, relax. He tried to forget that it was Malfoy who gave him a massage, but didn’t succeed, so instead he just put up with it.

Malfoy had been right, Harry thought few minutes later. He certainly did know what he was doing. Worried that his chest monster would interrupt the comforting treatment, Harry tried to focus on anything but the question of what could have caused such expertise.

Instead he asked lazily: ‘Why don’t you want your wand back?’

The hands stilled only for a nanosecond. ‘It doesn’t belong to me anymore, Potter. It wouldn’t listen to me as well as it used to do. Besides –’ He hesitated a moment. ‘– I don’t want to be reminded every day about the things that wand did.’

That was something Harry could understand. He remained silent as Malfoy collected his thoughts.

He applied more pressure to the muscles, but it wasn’t painful. In fact it was anything but. Malfoy chuckled when a blissful groan escaped his throat. Harry expected a ‘Told you so’ but the man just went on kneading and moulding his back muscles until Harry felt like putty in his hands. And why was that thought not as repelling as it should be?

The needles in his head where replaced by a fuzzy feeling.

He didn’t even protest when Malfoy manoeuvred him around so he sat with his back to the cushion, and adjusted the headrest so Harry’s head was lying comfortable again. It wasn’t until Malfoy started talking, that Harry realized the vulnerable position he was now in.

‘My, my, someone’s happy to see me!’

Harry struggled to get up from that blasted massage chair, which wouldn’t have been easy, even if Malfoy hadn’t put his hands on Harry’s chest and pushed him back. The traitorous monster laid down and purred.

Harry almost did the same when Malfoy leaned in and whispered against his ear: ‘Hush, Harry, just let me do my job.’

The sound of his first name still echoed in his ear as those skilful hands continued the massage of his shoulders. It rendered him speechless. Harry? Mighty Morgana, what was going on here?

Malfoy was standing between his legs, and his face was so close Harry could feel his breath on his face, and those silver-grey eyes just looked at him as he put pressure on Harry’s muscles … It was almost the same as his fantasy last night, and it was too much. Some voice in his head screamed that he should end this. Unfortunately, all his thoughts were lost in the pleasurable haze that was the caressing of Malfoy's hands over his chest. He was getting more and more aroused and to his utmost horror a tiny moan left his lips.

He saw surprise and triumph flitting in the depths of Malfoy’s eyes before he closed his own in embarrassment. Expecting a humiliating comment, he was completely flabbergasted when he felt thumbs caressing his nipples. His heart skipped over and then was racing again. So fast he felt dizzy, and so, in order to prevent himself falling off the chair, he grabbed Malfoy’s upper arms to steady himself.

When he opened his eyes, Malfoy was staring at him, searchingly. Harry had no idea what he was looking for, so he just returned the look.

Apparently Malfoy found something, because the next moment he stepped closer so their bodies touched, and crashed their mouths together. Malfoy. Was. Kissing. Him!

Malfoy’s hungry kisses and his firm body pressed against him made Harry succumb immediately. There was no possible way to fight this. Years of hating the Slytherin, yet obsessing over him at the same time, fuelled his own response.

Harry’s hands trembled as he tried to part Malfoy from his clothing. It wasn’t an easy task in his half laying position. He proceeded to unbutton Malfoy's shirt while Malfoy kissed his way down Harry’s chest.

While he undid Malfoy’s button and zip, Malfoy cradled Harry’s bollocks through his pants. As trousers and pants pooled around Malfoy's feet, he stepped out of them and kicked them across the room. Impatiently, Harry lifted his hips to get freed from the tight fabric. Instead of helping him, Malfoy pulled him out of the chair and tugged Harry’s pants down.

Even better, Harry decided, after Malfoy had drawn Harry’s body towards his. The feel of Malfoy's erection pressing against his own was simply amazing, even –

‘Brilliant!’ Harry panted.

‘Yeah!’ Malfoy breathed. ‘But … we should … bedroom.’

‘Brilliant!’ Harry repeated. ‘Where?’

Malfoy pointed towards the only door Harry hadn’t entered, and they started shuffling in that direction, all the while kissing and touching each other.

As soon as they got through the door, Harry crashed their bodies together, shoving Malfoy's hips against the door. His mouth hurriedly closed over Malfoy’s.

Their tongues were sliding against each other for what felt like hours and then Harry managed to say: ‘Bed.’

It was fortunate that the Slytherin was quite intelligent and understood him so well, thought Harry, when they shuffled towards a four-poster bed. As they stumbled onto it, Harry climbed on top of Malfoy, dizzy from lust. Draco arched his hips, grinding his erection into Harry's.

‘Oh, yes,’ Harry moaned. ‘Fuck, Draco!’

When he heard his given name, Draco gasped into Harry's mouth. His hands had found their way to Harry's arse and he squeezed. Harry could feel his blood pulsing in his crotch, when Draco’s voice – barely a gasp – started chanting Harry’s name.

‘Harry, oh gods, Harry!’

Frantically, they rocked together, until they found their much needed release.

o~0~O~0~o

Afterwards, they lay on their backs, sticky and breathless, trying to catch some air.

Harry was wide-eyed in astonishment. Although there where certain muscles that felt a little uncomfortable, the ones in his neck were not amongst them.

‘Is this the way you treat all your clients? Not that I’m a client or something,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know what to expect, it was my first time after all. ’

‘You were a virgin?' Malfoy asked, shocked.

'NO! I mean, it was my first massage.’

‘Ah!’

‘So, do you? Treat your clients this way, I mean,’ Harry repeated. He knew it was a silly question, stupid even, but he had to know how Draco would answer.

Draco turned towards him. He didn’t seem insulted, like Harry would’ve expected, but he smiled a little. His mouth was swollen and Harry wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. Draco must have sensed it, because his eyes turned a molten silver again. He leaned in and softly pressed his mouth against Harry's lips. But before Harry could deepen the kiss, Draco leaned back and said: ‘No, I don’t. I’ve never invited anyone in here.’

Harry didn't know what to make of that statement and his chest monster was confused.

‘So, why do you have that special chair?’

Draco exhaled slowly before he answered. ‘It’s for mother,’ he said. ‘Ever since the war she’s been having these neck pains and headaches and the Healers at St. Mungo’s won’t treat Death Eaters, so I studied Muggle treatments, learned some massage techniques and set up that room.’ He gestured towards the door they had come through. ‘Father doesn’t know.’ He added.

Harry was stunned that Draco trusted him enough to share something so personal with him. In a way it felt even more intimate than sharing his body. A warm feeling flooded inside his body. Emotions, that were still small and fragile, but could become something more, found there way from his toes to his fingertips.

He, too, turned sideways and reached out until the tips of his fingers touched Draco’s shoulder. He let them slide over the pale skin to his hand.

‘That isn’t right,’ he said. ‘The hospital shouldn’t let any witch or wizard down who’s in need of treatment! I’ll see if I can do something – ’

He was silenced by Draco’s finger against his lips.

‘You’re still trying to save the world, right? Or at least the people you think, need rescuing. That’s actually what I was counting on.’

The admission surprised Harry. He looked into those silver-grey eyes and asked: ‘Why?’

‘Who do you think sent an invitation for a free treatment on a certain date, to the Muggle cousin of one of your Gryffindor friends?’

What? Harry tried to read Malfoy’s expression but the man just stared at him without giving anything away. He didn't know what to make of it. It was unnerving.

‘But …’ he started, ‘… but how did you know Dean would go with her?’ But then he remembered the girl has lost all her relatives in the war during a Death Eater raid. ‘Oh.’ He berated himself for asking and tried to retain his composure. Malfoy was still watching him.

‘So … you thought I would try to save your mother, didn’t you? Or maybe save you from working at a beauty salon?’ Harry asked with a hint of curiosity coloring his voice.

‘Seems I was right, wasn’t I?’ Malfoy sounded smug, but, to his surprise, Harry detected a little insecurity underneath it.

He smiled and intertwined their fingers. ‘Yes, you were,’ he answered.

Slowly, they started drifting to sleep, their bodies fitted against each other.

‘Why didn’t you stop working in the salon, once you learned the massage techniques?’ Harry asked all of a sudden.

‘Why, Harry, I don’t recall admitting to be working there.’ Draco sounded amused.

_What?_ Harry’s eyes flew open. The monster inside him roared its approval.

‘I happen to be the co-owner of the place,’ Draco said in a smug tone.

** _The end_ **


End file.
